


It's Only Life

by ghostyouknow



Series: The Spice Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - High School, Awkwardness, Coming of Age, F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gender Issues, Growing Up, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Puberty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-20
Updated: 2012-10-20
Packaged: 2017-11-16 16:12:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/541368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostyouknow/pseuds/ghostyouknow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The second installment in The Spice Verse. Misha goes into heat and gets into Gen's pants in a rather unconventional way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Only Life

Something was wrong with Misha.

He usually had a pretty good appetite at lunch, but today he just picked at his sandwich, which was low-fat turkey on whole wheat. Gen knew, because she'd traded for his yogurt.

Gen watched him peel off the crust and roll it in little balls, which he arranged in a pyramid. “You didn't have to trade if you didn't want my sandwich.”

Misha kept his eyes on his tiny bread sculptures. “I'm not really hungry.”

Actually, he didn't look all that good, now that Gen thought about it. He was pale, and his forehead looked a little shiny. There were dark veins under his eyes. Gen would say that he had pulled an all-nighter for their AP Bio essay, except Misha was uber organized and put all of his assignments on a calendar and had it finished a week ago.

“You look like crap,” Gen told him. “Do you need to go to the nurse or something?”

Misha flicked a bread ball. It rolled across the table.

Gen stopped scraping the sides of her yogurt cup. “Holy shit.”

Misha's nostrils flared and he half-jumped in his seat. His eyes widened and he ducked his head, like he wished he could disappear.

Jensen Ackles was coming to their table.

_Jensen fucking Ackles_.

Gen wasn't a social pariah or anything. She had some friends who were popular, and also some friends who were, well, _Misha_. But she definitely wasn't the kind of person who talked to Jensen Ackles, the most gorgeous of the senior alphas. He looked like a movie star and played football, and he wasn't just some dumb jock, either. He shared AP Studio Art with Misha. Gen assumed that made him sensitive and sweet and stuff, though the one time she'd been dumb enough to say that out loud, Misha had given her this _look_ and muttered something about a paper maché bong.  
  
She caught a flurry of movement behind Jensen's shoulder. The jock table was watching Jensen and jostling amongst themselves, like they were all in on some kind of joke. Gen glanced up at Jensen and felt trepidation creep up her spine.

Boy-omegas were more or less the same as any other omega–they went into heat and married alphas and had babies. Really, the only differences were slightly different fashion standards and a vestigial penis-knot combo. But they _were_ pretty rare, and Gen knew there were backwoods assholes who thought they were all slutty sexual deviants. Misha didn't talk about it, but Gen knew that he got teased sometimes when she wasn't around.

She was around now, and no way was she going to let Jensen use Misha for a senior prank or whatever had the popular alphas laughing like hyenas.

“What's up, Ackles?” She spoke with as much steel as she could muster.

To her surprise, Jensen blushed. He shuffled his feet and stuck his hands in his pockets, looking like he kinda hoped the heavens would open up and smite him where he stood. “Uh, Misha? I think maybe you should, y'know, go home. Before something happens. The other guys–”

“Are you _threatening_ him?” Gen was ready to claw out Jensen's eyes, his status as a Greek god notwithstanding.

But then Misha whimpered, and a bunch of tiny little details suddenly burst into sharp relief: Misha's slight squirming; the way he was looking up at Jensen with a kind of hungry adoration; the fact that the students staring were either alphas or omegas who'd already had their first heat.

“Fuck,” Gen said. “ _Fuck_.”

There were suppressants to keep omegas from going into heat, but no one took them until they started going into their first. Since there were two- to three-days between the start of symptoms and the stinky, sweaty, slutty stage, most omegas recognized the signs and took their first-heat pill and were perfectly fine to go to school. That's why all omegas had to sit through a dozen boring slideshows detailing every possible symptom, from headache to fever to spots of cervical mucus in one's underwear –

–unless their parents withdrew them from class.

Gen knew that Misha's family didn't believe in using suppressants, but she had assumed that his parents had sat him down and explained how things worked so he would know enough _not to come to school_!

“Fuck,” Gen said again.

Misha grit his teeth. “Could you stop saying that?”

It was the most he'd said all day.

Gen leaned over the table. “Misha, we have to get you out of here. The nurse–”

“No!” Misha hung his head. “My parents can't know, okay? I just...they can't know. I can't tell them. I can't...” He chewed his lip, his whole face flushing red. “I can't leave this table.”

Oh.

_Oh_.

Jensen yanked off his sweatshirt and thrust it toward Misha. “You can use this. Just, uh, please don't give it back.”

“Thanks.” Misha accepted the hoodie with shaking hands. He looked about two seconds away from sobbing as as he wrapped it around his waist and tied the sleeves over his crotch.

“We can go to my house.” Gen scooped her remaining lunch into her bag, stood and waited for Misha to follow suit. When he did, she tried not to notice the damp place Misha left. She hoped no one else sat there.

Jensen's eyes seemed to be glued to the damp place on the seat. “Do you need help? If not, I should probably get, y'know, really, really far away.”

“We'll be fine.” Gen grabbed Misha's arm and pulled him the back way out of the cafeteria, so they wouldn't have to pass any teachers or cafeteria workers. “Goddammit, Misha. Why the Hell would you let it get this far?”

Misha _was_ crying, now. He balked when they got to Gen's car. “I'll ruin the upholstery.”

“Fuck the upholstery!” Gen shoved him into the passenger seat and slammed the door behind him.

By the time she got her key in the ignition and tore out of the parking lot, Misha was a hiccuping mess in the passenger seat. Gen couldn't smell him, since she hadn't had her own heat yet, but she knew that he was probably reeking enough to call every alpha in a fifteen-mile radius.

Misha wiped furiously at his eyes. “I told myself it was a stomachache. I didn't want it to be this. I'm not–I'm not ready.”

Gen didn't know with whom she was the most furious: Misha, for being this stupid; the students who'd laughed at him; every adult, from Misha's mother to his homeroom teacher, for not noticing; or herself, because she'd known something was up but hadn't connected the dots. She'd just sat there and eaten lunch and complained about her chemistry grades, like Misha's hormones weren't going crazy.

Heat wasn't a joke. Misha could've _gotten hurt_ , which was what people said when they didn't want to use the word _rape_. God, if Jensen hadn't said anything, Gen would probably have gone on to her next class without realizing that Misha was too mortified to leave his seat–that his hormones had given him some kind of weirdo brain paralysis.

God, Jensen had practically rescued Mish from his own stupidity. Now, Misha was going to think that Jensen was his hero, even though _not raping someone_ wasn't exactly something that should earn medals. Misha would make moon-eyes at him and go with him to prom and get pregnant in the backseat of some shitty car and get married. Misha would spend the rest of his life barefoot in a kitchen with umpteen babies. He'd never talk to Gen again.

“Gen? That's your driveway.” Misha sounded timid, which wasn't even _like_ him.

Gen jerked the wheel and squealed to a stop. She thumped her head against the steering wheel, and imagined that she _could_ smell Misha's pheromones. One of her omega's magazines said they smelled musky and natural and warm, which made Gen think of pine trees and cinnamon.

“The school's going to call your mom and say you skipped,” she said. “I can call and pretend to be her.”

Misha wiped his eyes. “It's worth a try. Even she catches me, I'll just get grounded. That's better than going home like this.”

“That's going to happen, anyway.”

Misha stared at her with round, horrified eyes. Then, his face crumpled, and he put his head in his hands.

Gen knew that Misha's body was pretty much going haywire, and yeah, entering full-blown heat at school was embarrassing and terrifying. But heat was something all omegas had to go through sooner or later, and it wasn't _bad_. Misha shouldn't be acting like his whole life was over.

“ _Think_. It's Friday. Even if I call the school, and you call your mom and tell her you're tutoring me or whatever, you're going to be like this for a week!”

With a first heat, it could be longer, but Gen wasn't going to say that with Misha already flying to pieces.

Misha was silent for a moment. “I could take a first-heat suppressant?”

Gen tried not to look as shocked as she felt. She knew Misha didn't share all of his parents' values–he came over to her house to look at porn, for crissakes–but he'd never openly disavowed them, either. “No, you can't. You're too far along and need the triple-dose emergency stuff, and you can't buy that over-the-counter without parental permission.”

“So, I'm screwed. Awesome.” Misha banged one fist on the dashboard, and then shook his hand. “I better get out before my leaking _vagina_ destroys your car.”

Gen watched, helpless, as he leaped out the passenger seat, slammed the car door shut and rooted around the flower pots for the spare key. His movements were stiff and weird. The bottom of Jensen's hoodie was wet, where Misha had accidentally sat on it. No way was she looking at the passenger seat.

She fished her cell out of her backpack. She called the attendance office first, and then her mom. That call went straight to voicemail, so Gen left a message: “Hey, Mom. It's Gen. It turns out that headache I was ignoring was me going into heat, and I didn't realize it until it was too late. Don't worry, I went home, but do you think you could stop by the pharmacy on your way home from work?”

Gen ended the call and leaned back in her seat with a sigh. Her mom was going to be _pissed_ , but convincing her to hand over pills she already had would be easier than asking her to order some for Misha. Then again, it was only 1:00, and Gen's mom wouldn't be home until just before seven. Maybe, this was all part of a heat-inspired panic attack, and Misha would be halfway normal by the time taking the pills was even an option.

The shower was running when Gen entered the house. She dumped her backpack by the front door, kicked off her shoes and jogged down the hall toward her bedroom. Misha's clothing was probably completely gross, so she went through her drawers until she found an extra-comfy pair of sweats. She didn't have any pads, so she went to her mom's bathroom and fished through the cupboards for an ancient pack; Gen's mom had used suppressants since her dad had left, so she hadn't had a heat in basically forever.

Thus armed, Gen went back to her bedroom. Misha had left the adjoining door ajar, so she could water splashing against the curtain. She knocked. “Misha? I brought you pads and pajamas. My mom's going to stop by the pharmacy on the way home. Actually, I told her it was for me, so don't be surprised if she also comes home with a dildo and a speech about blossoming into omega-hood.”

The water shut off. “Thanks.”

Gen waited.

Finally, Misha poked his soaking head out of the shower curtain. “Do you mind?”

“Oh, sorry. I'll just set them on the toilet.” Gen grabbed Misha's dirty clothes and almost raced out of the bathroom. It wasn't like she saw Misha naked all the time or anything, but they'd never really been shy about turning their backs and changing in the same room. Why would they be? Their parts didn't look exactly the same, but they served the same functions. Misha used the omega locker room at school, too. Putting him with alphas just because they all had flat chests would be absurd.

Gen tried not to notice the soaking-wet seat of Misha's pants. The first heat was supposed to produce way more mucus than normal, but that didn't make it less gross. She threw his clothes and Jensen's hoodie into the washing machine and started the cycle. Now what?

She ended up walking back to her room carrying a cup of tea and a package of gingersnaps, since ginger was supposed to be good for stomachaches, and Misha said it kinda felt like he had one.

She found a damp Misha sitting on the end of her bed and hugging a pillow. Gen thrust the tea at him, and then sat next to him on the bed and opened the cookies. She nibbled at the corner of one snap while Misha turned the pillow into a makeshift lap-table and contemplated the steam rising from his mug like some kind of zen Buddha hippie.

“Feeling better?” she asked.

“A little,” Misha said, and then, “No, not really.”

He sipped from his mug. Gen had given him one of her favorites, which had a cow-shaped handle.

“So, how come you're not wailing for knot?”

Misha choked. Gen rubbed little circles over his back.

“I'm not anywhere near an alpha, doofus,” Misha said, after a good two-minute recovery. He leaned against her, in a wordless request for a half-hug.

Gen looped one arm around him. Misha seemed to relax a little. Gen breathed in a little too obviously and disguised it with a sigh. She couldn't smell a thing outside of the usual–Misha's shampoo and the Glade Plug-in her mom had installed in her room.

“What's heat like?” Gen asked.

Misha shot her an incredulous, half-hurt look.

Gen shrugged. “Hey, I'm probably not going to know for myself until I'm married.”

Actually, it was more like, “married and ready to pop out kids.” There was zero medical reason to go through heat _just because_ , and estrus could be dangerous and debilitating for omegas. Back in the old days, they'd been blocked from public schools and places of business. Holding down jobs was impossible, because they'd automatically miss four to fourteen days, three to five times a year. Most omegas didn't study anything, either, unless their parents sent them to go live with nuns.

Misha turned his mug in his hands. “Mostly, it feels like I need to pee.”

“Seriously?”

Misha's lip quirked, like he was working his way up to a smile. “Yeah. I was asking for bathroom passes all morning.”

That was...sorta disappointing. Gen thought heat was supposed to make all your nerves come alive and fireworks explode behind your eyeballs, and also make you so sensitive that anything could make you orgasm. Like, Misha should be really, _really_ happy about his pillow. Then again, it was probably better that he wasn't. There were some things Gen didn't need to know about her best friend, and what his o-face looked like kinda topped the list.

It was Gen's turn to shift nervously, which prompted a curious look from Misha.

He chewed his lip. “I didn't _really_ know what it was until the cafeteria, when I smelled Jensen, um, responding, and I, you know.”

_Got wet_.

Gen almost asked what Jensen smelled like to an omega in heat, but she didn't want to know that, either. After she started her first, she'd be able to smell that alphas meant good things, even if she didn't respond by draping herself over the nearest flat surface and wiggling her butt until someone mounted her. Which, eew.

“It's easier when I'm not around alphas,” Misha said. “But I still feel, I dunno, restless. It doesn't hurt or anything, it's just really uncomfortable, and I want–well, _sex_ , I guess, except it's hard to want something I've never had. So mostly, it's just me feeling sick, achey and kinda gross.”

Gen continued to pet him as he sipped tea. He seemed to like the contact, which was normal both for upset-Misha and omegas in heat, which became more physical in general, even when they weren't having sex. Gen wasn't exactly opposed; she and Misha were always hugging and elbowing and kicking each other and stuff.

She nudged Misha with her shoulder. “You know that even if my mom lets you take the pills, your parents are going to notice if you magically don't go into heat until you're twenty-five.”

Misha moved away from Gen and set his cup up the floor. “They want me to go to St. Mary's, same as Anna and Klara.”

That...

That did not compute.

St. Mary's was an all-omega school maybe forty-five minutes from Roosevelt High. More importantly, it wasn't part of The Plan, which consisted of Gen and Misha both going to schools in New York. Misha would have to go to all-omega school no matter what, but one in Manhattan was better than one in rural Virginia.

“Isn't it too late to apply anyway?” Gen asked.

“I applied in November. My mom wanted me to, and since she agreed to pay for the other applications, I kinda..did.” Misha's mouth thinned. “I got in, with a pretty big scholarship. I'm still waiting to hear from everywhere else.”

He'd applied in November? Why hadn't he told her? Didn't he trust her?

“Is it...I mean, do you want to?” Gen toyed with a piece of her hair. She'd been a hair-chewer as a kid.

“Go to St. Mary's? No way! It's not close to _anything_ , and you have to sign a pledge when you go in saying that you won't use suppressants or drink or be alone with an alpha the whole time you're there. They have all these bizarre school traditions, like you earn a different hat every year. When you become a sophomore, they give you a beanie! You get a sombrero senior year! And there are all of these school dances and scavenger hunts, and the school mascot was a _pink ribbon_ until the breast cancer people sued them!” Misha scrunched his nose. “Plus, both my sisters went there. The professors might realize we're related.”

Gen guessed she could take a little heart in his vehemence.

Misha scrubbed one hand through his hair. “They're worried about me being in a big city, but it's mostly abstract, you know? Maybe if don't go into my first heat until I'm already accepted, they'll just go along?”

Maybe this was Gen's fault. Misha was the smart one, but Gen had been the one who'd dreamed of New York. She knew that all of his sisters went to St. Mary's–she shouldn't have come up with The Plan and convinced Misha it was perfect back in the eighth grade. At the same time, this was totally unfair!

“Do you really think that will work?” Gen asked.

Misha shook his head. “No. I guess I don't.”

They sat in silence. Misha started wiggling a little.

Gen wondered what life would be like without Misha. She's never _not_ had him. And yeah, they could call each other and Skype and gchat and arrange visits, but there wouldn't be weekly sleepovers and classes and pajama-waffles-Buffy parties. Maybe it had been stupid to think that they could keep it up in the first place. They were seniors in high school. Seniors went off to different colleges and maybe kept in glancing touch until the ten-year reunion. They led separate lives.

Gen grabbed Misha and squished him close. His lap-pillow went flying. “What do you need?”

“Uh–”

“Seriously, Mish. Do you want to hear that you St. Mary's is awesome and that you'll love all the cheesy stuff as soon as you're there and we'll talk every day? Or do you want me to say that you'll get a full scholarship and live in a fabulous Manhattan apartment filled with cats?”

“Why would I have cats?” Misha felt a little rigid; he'd probably been thrown off by Gen's sudden tsunami of emotion.

“I just want you to be okay,” Gen said. “I'll do anything. I'll get you suppressants or buy ice cream or kidnap you. Just give the word.”

Misha leaned in and kissed her cheek, like he used to do when they were eight and hiding out in one of their many blanket forts. They'd hung out at Misha's more often, then; his mom made awesome grilled cheese sandwiches with homemade bread and was a shaped-pancake _artist_. His kisses were all impulsive smush-pecks, the kind that made Gen wipe her cheek and tell him he was gross.

This was soft and gentle and grateful. Gen may have squeaked.

Misha drew back.

Gen lowered her eyes, embarrassed for some weirdo alien reason. That's when she saw _it_. “Holy shit, Misha. You have a boner.”

"I'm in heat!” Misha looked torn between indignation and horror. He clapped his hands over the offending bump in his sweat pants, which was a little shorter than Gen's thumb but definitely in evidence.

“Oh my god,” Gen said. “Have you had that this whole time? Has it been _touching my pillow_?”

She wasn't thinking about her pants. Not ever.

Misha started laughing, because when he wasn't being all traumatized he could be an asshole. “Dude, I thought you were the one who knew how all of this stuff worked?”

Gen pointed to the bathroom. “You! You're taking another shower! A cold one!”

Misha hated cold showers, even when it was ninety-some degrees, which it was not. He narrowed his eyes. “It's not going to go down until I take something or get _some relief_. You know that.”

“We could try ice?” Gen's face burned when Misha just started laughing again.

“God, I can't believe I'm going to have deal with this crap every few months.” Misha ruffled Gen's hair, laughing harder when she swatted him away. “Love ya, Gen.”

He dashed into the bathroom. Well, it was kinda a pathetic, hobbling dash, but that could have been the madcap giggling, too.

Gen collapsed back on the bed and looked up at the ceiling. Her cheek tingled a little where Misha had kissed her. Her stomach and chest felt punched-in. What if Misha was giving himself relief right now? _In her bathroom_? It was sorta an inevitable part of non-partnered heat, but this was Misha! She didn't want to think of him as a 'real omega,' now. She didn't want things to change.

She had always figured that she'd get hers first.

The shower started up again. Gen clamped one hand over her mouth and tried really hard not to cry.  
  


###


End file.
